A Rambling Raconteur

To Pablo, my Chilean love

It's hard to read Neruda
and not fall in love,

hard to not fall in love
with somebody,
something,
a god or goddess
or just the life around you
or maybe some poet long-dead.

I fell in love
with a certain dark thing
somewhere
and I've been searching for it
elsewhere
ever since.
I imagine I'll find it
when I stumble upon someone else
searching
for the same thing.

It was easy to read
revolucion
living darkly beneath my surface.
It didn't even take
cien sonnatas
to unearth it.
It was
aquí.
It was
dentro de nosotros.
It was
you
and he
and I
all along.